


Crash

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [25]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Abandonment, Banter, Energon, Exhaustion, Fear of Death, Impatience, Major Character Injury, Natural Disasters, Near Death Experiences, Pace Mates, Panic, Recovery, Rescue Missions, Reunions, Stupidity, Sunsets, Tornadoes, Whining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4078519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: an electrical storm and storm chasers</p><p>Members of both the Primary and Secondary Minibot paces have left the safety of their base to watch the sunset. The lightshow becomes more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash

“Do you think this will be a ZOWEE! good viewing spot?”

Sitting on the edge of the cliff with his legs dangling off, Beachcomber looked up at Warpath with a smile. “Oh, I know it will be. I’ve been here before and the whole show is just _marvelous_. Just you wait!”

“You know I’m bad at waiting, so is this ‘marvelous’ enough to keep us from getting in trouble for waiting to drop off this energon?” Windcharger asked impatiently. “We’re running at an all-time low, remember? Prime said we needed to hurry before Ratchet ran out!”

“Chill, Windcharger,” Beachcomber soothed. “Prime is _always_ sayin’ to enjoy what we have, right? To get in touch with our home?”

“That’s why _you’re_ the geologist,” Gears grumbled. “I’m going to get a sun fade.”

“Not from one sunset,” Beachcomber argued. “Don’t be gloomy, Gears, please! It’s gonna look beautiful, I promise you. And if you don’t like it, you can take the energon back while the rest of us finish it out. Right, Brawn?”

“Yeah, sure,” Brawn sighed, privately wishing he could be the one to leave early.

Beachcomber shrugged, shaking his helm at the apathy of the others. If _anyone_ was going to enjoy this sunset, it was going to be him.

At last the sun began to sink. “My optics will need to be recalibrated after this,” Gears mumbled, digging his palms into said optics.

“Hush up,” Brawn scolded. The duo from the Secondary pace couldn’t help but snicker a little, but that stopped almost immediately when the leader of the Primary pace glared at them.

When the sunset was almost halfway over, Beachcomber finally focused on the odd tinge of it. It had been brilliantly yellow and he had chocked it up to, of course, the color of this planet’s sun. Now it was darkening into a deep green color.

“Hmm…”

Warpath heard Beachcomber’s perplexed hum. “What’s wrong? You look a little FWIIIP! worried.”

“Well…it’s just that—” Before Beachcomber could finish his sentence, a loud crack sounded and rain burst from the sky, almost immediately drenching them.

“Agh!” Windcharger wailed. “Now we’re stuck in the rain!”

Warpath held an arm over his helm, hollering over the fierce rumble: “This isn’t rain, this is BAM, KA-POW! hail! Right, ’Comber?!”

Beachcomber nodded vigorously, shielding his own helm with his optics still fixed on the greenish hue of the sky.

“Let’s get back to base before this hail gets into any important systems!” Gears pleaded.

On their way down the long cliffside, the Minibots were surprised and pleased when the hail abruptly ceased.

“It seems like it’s over,” Windcharger said in relief. “The hail and the sunset.”

“If that’s true,” Brawn started slowly, “then why isn’t the rumble stopping? It sounds like jets, but I don’t see any Cons, do you?”

The others looked to the green sky and then at each other as though they expected someone else to have an answer. Eventually all optics fixed on Beachcomber, who threw up his hands helplessly.

“I—I don’t know. This isn’t natural for a sunset, I can tell you that. We’d best hurry.”

“You heard the mech! Let’s VROOM! roll outta here!” Warpath urged, transforming and leading the way. As a tank, his was the only tread that could stand up to driving down the rocks, so the rest ran in bipedal mode after him.

A fierce crosswind nearly propelled them back up. Gears yelped as he was uprooted and promptly flattened against the cliffside and Brawn fiercely peeled him off.

“What in the Pit is happening?!”

“Look!” Gears cried. “It’s a—a—funnelly thing!”

Beachcomber whirled to look where Gears pointed and saw that a gigantic funnel of swirling wind and debris was indeed traveling toward them. To the disbelief of his comrades, he began running against the wind— _toward_ the vortex instead of away from it. Brawn leapt forward and seized his arm.

“What are you doing, Beachcomber?!” he demanded.

“I have to see what it is!” Beachcomber answered, trying to jerk out of Brawn’s grip and failing.

“Look from here! You’re not going near it!”

“No need to go near it,” Windcharger cut in fearfully. “It’s coming for us!”

The funnel was picking up speed and size as it approached. It finally sank in that they ought to flee. Almost as one, they transformed and took off at full throttle, zooming one after the other and occasionally trying to shortcut past each other. It was difficult due to the fact that the wind was now turning against them, sucking into the funnel.

“Think we should radio for a rescue?” Beachcomber suggested, fourth in the Mini line. “Skyfire—”

“Wouldn’t stand a chance!” Warpath shouted to his aft. “This wind is too strong; he would WHOOSH! SKEEE! definitely crash!”

“Speaking of crashing…” Gears didn’t finish his sentence, swerving awkwardly and nearly tipping onto his side. Beachcomber transformed and clung to Gears’ bumper, righting him.

“What’s wrong with him?!” Brawn called from the front.

“Almost…outta energy…” Gears’ voice was a slur that didn’t match the panicky quake running through his frame.

“The energon!” Beachcomber realized. “We left it back there!”

“Don’t even think about—” Before Brawn could even finish his sentence, Beachcomber dodged around Warpath and took off toward their cliff.

“I’ll go and ZWEEE! get him back!” Warpath declared, throwing himself into reverse.

“What is with this Secondary pace and their idiot ideas?” Gears muttered, though no one could hear him over the howl of the wind. A red and silver blur perked him up and he hoarsely tried to shout again. “Windcharger! Ugh, now it’s spread between paces. Brawn, will you drag them all back here before they get themselves deactivated?” He jerked his helm around, searching for the leader of his pace. “B-Brawn? Brawn?! Okay…I’m doomed.”

Beachcomber, meanwhile, was clambering up the cliff, blunting his fingertips and muddying the edges of his feet.

“We need the energon,” he panted. Normally he wouldn’t dare do this, but Windcharger’s earlier comment about how much they needed the resource had made him feel responsible. It simply couldn’t be left behind.

The energon sat almost exactly where they had left it, although the wind had blown it a few yards closer to the edge of the cliff. Beachcomber heaved himself toward it, gathering up as many cubes as he could and hugging them against his chest.

“Beachcomber! Don’t be DONG! stupid and just leave ’em,” Warpath commanded, pinwheeling his arms as he stood up behind his pace-mate.

“Warpath, help me!” Beachcomber urged as he whirled around, tossing energon to him—only for it to be hurled back at him by the wind, striking him in the face. He stumbled, lost his footing, and was jerked upward instead of down.

“Help me!” he howled again, his reason entirely different. Warpath could do nothing but scream with him, but even as he spun toward the funnel, Beachcomber felt a wave of terrible calm and the absurdist of thoughts entered his mind.

 _Better I die by natural disaster than in this sick war_.

A sudden jolt shot through his limbs and froze his movement. Whooping in alarm, Beachcomber struggling to refocus on his view of the cliff, upside-down though he was, and saw Warpath clinging to the shoulder of Windcharger. Magnetism caused the air to shiver around Windcharger’s outstretched hands. He wore an expression of grim concentration as he dragged against the funnel’s grip.

Despite Windcharger’s efforts, Beachcomber screamed as a few piece of armors were excruciatingly stripped from his upper back. Windcharger backpedaled, kicking up mud and snarling in exertion as he pulled his arms tight toward his chest, trying to force Beachcomber closer to him.

“Need…more t-t-traction,” Windcharger stuttered, optics overly bright. Brawn, who had just reached them, scrambled forward on hands and knees, locking himself around Windcharger’s legs without much regard to harm that could come to him due to the intense magnetic field.

Inch by agonizing inch, Beachcomber floated closer to the cliff and after what seemed like forever being pommelled by the gale, it passed. Beachcomber whimpered wordlessly into the eerie silence, shaking in midair.

“Windcharger,” Brawn whispered, peering up at his pace-mate. “Windcharger?”

“Can you ZIP, CLANG! bring him back?” Warpath questioned, peering anxiously up at his own.

Windcharger didn’t respond to either of the other Minibots, his fingers gradually clenching. Beachcomber somersaulted slowly closer and for a single moment he allowed himself to feel relief. Then Windcharger’s arms sank and the magnetism sizzled out. Beachcomber landed hard on the cliff’s edge, scrabbling for purchase as he slipped—

“BANG! I gotcha, ’Comber!” Warpath sighed in relief, pulling Beachcomber somewhat painfully by his wrists to safety and briefly hugging his shaking form. Beachcomber in turn clung to him so he wouldn’t let go, trying to recover from what had just happened. He looked over Warpath’s shoulder and drew in his vents sharply when Windcharger began to sway.

“’Charger!” Brawn gasped as the warrior crumpled, awkwardly maneuvering him against his shoulder. “Primus, _Primus!_ I should’ve known,” Brawn hissed, waving away the smoke rising from Windcharger’s plating. “He just overloaded and Gears—” Brawn abruptly went ramrod straight. “Gears. I—I _left_ him…”

Horror looked so out of place on Brawn, who was always grinning, always ready for another fight and never caring for his own safety, but when it came to the safety of his pace-mates, it was an entirely different matter. Beachcomber released Warpath with difficulty, wanting nothing more than to curl up against someone for the rest of the orn, but instead he went to his knees in front of the Primary pace leader.

“Brawn, I’m sure he’s okay.”

“Are you?” Brawn snapped, though his voice shook just a fraction. “I’m more inclined to see for myself!”

“Then…look at me,” Gears suggested tiredly as he touched down onto the cliff’s surface. Brawn couldn’t help but let out a cry of relief. Gears stumbled a little and sank down, leaning against Brawn’s shoulder and venting erratically.

“How did you survive?” Brawn ventured.

“Compressed air bursts from my feet,” Gears mumbled, his optics powering down and cycling tightly closed.

“I forgot you could do that,” Brawn murmured, receiving no answer, but he simply looped an arm around Gears and sighed deeply. “They both need medical attention.”

Beachcomber sank back on his heels, laughing feebly. “I’ll call Ratchet. It’s…it’s a good thing I came back for the energon, isn’t it?”

The corners of Brawn’s mouth twitched just a little before he bowed his helm against the back of Windcharger’s and remained that way until help arrived.

 


End file.
